


Time, Space, and Dimensions

by Forest_Girl



Series: Science Soulmates [1]
Category: Back to the Future (Movies), Back to the Future: The Game
Genre: AKA I noticed that there were like no soulmate stories for BTTF and I got very upset, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, So I made one, and then proceed to flail my arms in the air bc romance is not my thing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-15 02:24:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7202522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forest_Girl/pseuds/Forest_Girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you are born, the universe decides who will be your soulmate. You will be able to hear their thoughts, feel their emotions, and, if it does occur, see a near death experience. It is a lonely thing to be without a soulmate, and many pity those who can not hear their soulmate's thoughts or feel their presence.</p>
<p>Emmett Brown doesn't quite know what it was like to have that constant presence in his mind, but he does know about science and the laws of the universe. Then, at pivotal points in his life, he knew, and on those days he met Marty McFly, a boy running rampant through time, trying to make things right in the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1931: Welcome Michael Corleone

**Author's Note:**

> Hello hello hello! This is my first contribution to the Mammett tag and I'm considerably nervous, but regardless, I'm happy to have the motivation to write _something_ at the moment. Basically, this is the result of me looking around Ao3 and not seeing any soulmate AUs in the tag, and I went hell no and decided to fix that.  
>  This specific version of a soulmate AU is, I hope, my own idea of what it would be like to have a soulmate. While I understand that soulmates are not specifically romantic, I wanted this to develop into romance (which I need to work on, so hey!) and I had fun writing out scenes from the game with young Emmett. Thank you all for taking the time to read my rambling, and I hope you all enjoy!

**June 13th, 1931**

At seventeen-going-on-eighteen, Emmett felt what it was like to have a soulmate.

He woke up on a humid summer day and there was this…  _ presence, _ this feeling like he wasn’t alone and isolated, but it was a comforting feeling instead of one of dread. It was more apt to describe it as if there was another bundle of anxiety and teenager-ness crammed into his head.

He didn’t need a second person’s opinion on the matter: before his mother had passed from cancer, she had told him the tall tales of how his grandparents had met, and how his parents had met, and so on. He had seen how his father had dove headfirst into his work after the funeral, dragging Emmett along for the ride and ignoring his son’s wants in life; how he didn’t care what his son didn’t care because God can’t you see he’s grieving? The guys and girls at school would gush endlessly about how “they had felt something different from the norm” or how “they had nearly had a conversation last night”. He had endured endless jeers concerning his situation, how he’d never have one, he’d be on his deathbed before he would ever feel complete.

On a hot June thirteenth, Emmett Lathrop Brown finally knew what it was like to have a soulmate, and he hadn’t had a clue one what to do.

* * *

Michael Corleone was a weird person that Emmet wished would go away. He constantly interrupted him and his train of thought, harassing him with no end in sight, saying that he was interested in science and how he wanted to see Emmett’s invention which he insisted, multiple times, that no such thing existed, haha, you’re a joker Mister Corleone!

But no matter what the lawyer-in-training said, Michael would not leave him alone, on his heel like an obedient dog following his master.

_ <dammit doc help me out here> _

“Would you stop calling me that?” Emmett rounded on him, double checking that the legal documents were securely tucked under his arm. “I am not a doctor, and I certainly have no idea what you are referring to, Mister Corleone! Good day!”

“But I didn’t—” Emmett didn’t give the boy the time of day, turning on his heel and stomping away, a scowl marring his freckled face.

_ <but I didn’t say anything> _

* * *

“Maybe H equals the Hamiltonian Operator.” Emmett’s eyes widened at Michael’s response, the synapses in his brain firing off at breakneck speed as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place.

“What did you just say?” Because Michael, annoying, harassing, foul minded (brilliant) Michael could not have said that. He couldn’t believe it, it seemed impossible, but it made sense once the math was done. It  _ solved _ Ivanov’s Conundrum.

“I said, maybe H equals the—”

“Hamiltonian Operator?”

“Yeah!” Michael replied with steadfast confidence and, if possible, Emmett’s brain was going to overload from the information input.

_ <If H is the Hamiltonian then H to the A multiplied to the inverse of A can only be same as the expectation value for A!> _

“That’s the solution.” Emmett’s voice was flat before a face-splitting grin crossed his features, small dimples appearing at the corners. “That’s the solution to Ivanov’s Conundrum! Lord above, I’ve been struggling with that all week!” He wanted to run the perimeter of the town’s center and then leap over the moon, but he restrained his childish impulse and turned back to Michael. “Where did you learn so much about science?”

“Ah, well,” In the back of Emmett’s mind, he registered the coil, the extra part that wasn’t him, he had come to call it, was tightening further, tensing and twisting into itself.

Lost in the wave of endorphins sweeping his mind and body, the observation was soon lost and forgotten. “Wait, you know an extensive amount of science, even knowing about my rocket drill, you must be from the patent office!”

The coil, as well as Michael, relaxed. “Yeah, yeah, the patent office. Speaking of, uh, how soon can I see that rocket drill?”

“Ah, well, it isn’t fully operational, but I can show you it, say, first thing in the morning?”

Michael shook his head. “No, that won’t work. I need to see a full scale model that’s fully operation by tonight. Otherwise, the patent’ll go to, uh, Doctor McCoy.”

Emmett staggered back, running his hand through his hair, eyes frantic and flicking around, calculating everything that he would need. “I-It can’t be done! It  _ might _ be possible to build a working prototype within your given timeframe, but there’s no way I’d be able to get my hands on the main ingredient for the fuel in time.”

“What is it?” Michael asked, willing to help; a rare thing in Emmett’s reality.

“A hundred and ninety proof alcohol. Not only would it be near-impossible for me to get that without the speakeasy—not that I would willingly go into such an establishment, regardless—but I can’t get off work until I deliver this subpoena. It’s part of the investigation into the business of Kid Tannen.” Emmett focused on Michael once more, who looked as lost as he felt. “Is it vitally important that you see the rocket-powered drill today?”

“Yes. Is it vitally important you deliver the subpoena today?”

“ _ Yes! _ ” Emmett cried, pacing back and forth, cursing out his father mentally. In his peripheral vision, he saw Michael flush.

“Listen Doc—Emmett,” Michael clapped his hand on Emmett’s shoulder, grounding him in reality. “I’ll help you get the alcohol—” Emmett shushed him, but Michael pushed on. “—and deliver the subpoena so long as you start working on building the full-scale model. That sound good?”

Emmett took a stabilizing breath and ran through the plan in his head, nodding. “Yes, yes that might work.” Emmett thumbed through the folders under his arm, finding the subpoena flyer and shoving it into Michael’s chest. “Here, this is the subpoena form. You have to find Arthur McFly and get him to sign on the line. If you need me, I’ll be in the soup kitchen doing calculations. Good luck, Mister Corleone!”

As Emmett ran to the soup kitchen, he could just barely hear Michael sigh in the back of his mind, causing him to jump.

_ <oh boy we’re in for the long haul> _

* * *

Emmett and Michael were both significantly scraped up, covered in oil and patches of soot from stealing the alcohol and then diluting it into fuel. Still, he was ecstatic as he double checked that the drill was secured to the cart he had towed down. Not only was his invention being accepted, but he had stood up to his father, stated and testified his case about how he refused to become a lawyer, how he wanted to be a scientist, an inventor, not something his father could take, twist, and mold to his liking.

Michael seemed just as happy, if not more so, as he helped load the cart. The coil in the back of his mind was no longer tense, ready to spring at a moment’s notice, but Emmett couldn’t help but ask, “Tell me, Michael, when can I expect to hear back from the patent office?”

The coil tensed, Michael’s hand clenched on the cart’s handle, and Emmett knew he had ruined the moment.

“In about, ah…” Michael sighed, his entire frame sinking, and Emmett could hear _ <i’m sorry i’m sorry i’m sorry,> _ echoing through his head. “I can’t.”

“I… don’t understand.”

“Doc—Emmett, I’m sorry. I’m not from the patent office.” It was almost like a dam had broken, and Michael began gushing, that coil twisting onto itself and pushing itself into the forefront of Emmett’s mind. “It was the only way I could get you to believe me—to trust me. There’s someone who’s in  _ big _ trouble, someone who’s important to me, to  _ us, _ and I needed a way to save him. I can’t tell you who, but I needed your drill to save them, and if I tried to save them tomorrow, it would have been too late.”

Michael met Emmett’s gaze, only to look down at the floor as he steered the cart to the door that would have given him direct access to the front yard. The  _ sorrys _ in Emmett’s mind doubled as Michael walked past. “I’ll—I’ll get it back to you, I promise, and, Emmett?”

He looked up, noting that Michael’s gaze held the same level of apprehension that the coil was exuding. “You’re going to be a great inventor, okay?”

Emmett didn’t move, and Michael became downcast once more. He pulled the cart behind him, and Emmett could feel his regret, feel the disappointment, and it occurred in his mind that maybe Michael, infuriating Michael, was his soulmate and wow how would his father react to that?

_ <Don’t lose him, don’t you dare lose him.> _

“Wait!” Emmett cried, running to Michael. As the other teen turned around, Emmett grabbed his arms and, with fear curling in his chest and threatening to give him cardiac arrest, he pressed his lips to Michaels oh-so-gently. He was scared, deathly so, because lord almighty he’s kissing a guy who may or may not be his soulmate and may not reciprocate his affection and—

Michael was kissing back. It was as if they’d known each other for years, and Marty was calming him, running his hand on his sides, tilting his head and not pushing for entry, simply showing his affection. Emmett’s heart thudded in his chest. The coil loosened, if only slightly.

_ <i love you Emmett> _

He pulled away, breathless, his face distinctly flushed and probably looking like a mess. “Keep the throttle at about eight.”

Michael smiled his thanks, chuckling slightly, and left the door.

At seventeen-going-on-eighteen, on a hot June thirteenth, Emmett Lathrop Brown had met, stole alcohol with, finished his rocket drill with, and kissed his soulmate, and he still didn’t have a clue on what to do.

* * *

**October 12th, 1931**

“Emmett!” Emmett’s gaze remained locked on the asphalt as he heard Michael coming down the street. He had rumors and had read that soulmates could feel their partner’s distress if they were close enough, but did one rushed, small kiss in his house’s basement constitute the two of them as being close? Was Michael really his soulmate?

He didn’t know, nor did he fully care. Right now, he wanted to be alone. “Go away, Michael.”

“C’mon, where are you?” Michael spun around at the foot of the courthouse stairs, and Emmet could not help but feel contempt for the boy, like he wanted to strangle him but didn’t have the guts or the energy to do so. ‘Look, I’m sorry you had to go through that scene at the expo, really! Things didn’t work out the way you expected, but everything’s gonna work out. I promise, I know how this story turns out, and—”

Emmett glared at the top of Michael’s head, practically an insect at this height, and reached into his pocket. He took out his engagement ring and threw it to the ground, the sound of it hitting the asphalt giving him slight satisfaction. Michael bent down and grabbed it, looking up at where Emmett was sitting, his blue (glorious, bright blue, nothing like Edna’s sharp, criticizing green) eyes widening when he saw Emmett sitting on the edge of the courthouse’s roof, just to the right of the clock face. “The story is over, Michael.”

The coil tightened, screaming < _ no> _ over and over, like a skipping record. “Okay, Emmett, hold still. I know your emotions are running a little wild, but don’t do anything crazy.”

“Emotions? What emotions? My emotions are dead.” Emmett watched listlessly as Michael ran into the courthouse. An old show tune popped into his mind, and he hummed the first few notes before singing the opening verse, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. “They say I’m crazy, got no sense, but I don’t  _ care. _ They may or may not mean offense, but I don’t  _ care _ .”

“Stop!” Michael cried, popping out of the maintenance door and making Emmett’s heart jump into his throat. He tilted forward, his center of gravity having been thrown off, but he pulled himself back to safety just in time. Michael’s face, and the coil, expressed panic in its purest form, his arm outstretched to catch him if he had fallen. He wiped his eyes hurriedly, using a clean part of his corroded suit.

“What are you doing up here?” Emmett cried, because no matter how you looked at it, Michael was the reason why he had nearly fallen, and the last thing he wanted to kiss at this moment in time was the concrete.

“Don’t jump!”

“I wasn’t going to jump!” Emmett glared at Michael. “Then again, I wasn’t planning on  _ falling  _ either, but it looks like  _ someone _ had different plans for me, huh?”

He didn’t miss Michael’s flinch. “Then what were you—”

“This is where I come when I want to think.” Emmett’s glare intensified. “When I want to be  _ alone. _ ”

Michael shook his head. “I’m not leaving until I know you’re okay.” Michael looked like he wanted to put his hands in his pockets, but he wasn’t willing to do so in sake of comfort in case he or Emmett fell. “Look. I get that you’re torn up about Edna, but she was one person, one relationship, and you’ll recover and you’ll find your actual soulmate. It’ll happen eventually, Emmett.”

“Eventually? For all I know mister Corleone, I will be alone for the rest of my life. Do you even have a  _ clue _ what it feels like, how I am currently feeling?” Emmett wanted to curl into a ball and let a black hole envelop him, only to be crushed into a fine paste by the intense gravitational force. “I believed that I’d found “the one”, only to discover that I was being misled, by both my emotional blindness and Edna Strickland. Do you have any idea what the negative emotional consequences are of that?”

Michael breathed through his teeth, slowly lowering himself so that he was sitting on the other side of the clock face, right on the ledge. “Yeah, actually,” Emmett’s head shot up, but Michael looked out over the town, not even glancing in Emmett’s direction. “It was back last year, in October. I knew this girl, her name was Laura, and she was the popular girl that everyone liked. I was head-over-heels for her, and she was interested in me, and we thought that we might’ve been, y’know…”

“Soulmates.” Emmett supplied, ignoring the pang of jealousy that echoed in his chest. “So? What happened?”

Michael shrugged, looking down at his hands. “I left for a couple, ah, a couple of weeks with a… friend of mine. I got away from Laura and, in that time, I figured out my friend was my soulmate. All that stuff about feeling another person’s presence? Trust me when I tell you it’s true.

“I felt like a dumbass when I figured it out. He was always there, and his mind was always going—I had to tell him to go to bed because he was keeping me up at night, and I would try to keep him entertained when he felt lonely, sometimes he’d give me answers to a test question I’d be struggling with, or—”

“Please, stop.” Emmett choked out, his throat constricted. He couldn’t stop them, and he felt absolutely useless, like scum, when Michael looked over to him in confusion.

“Emmett?”

Michael’s voice sounded so confused, so lost, but if there’s anyone that should have been lost or confused it should have been  _ Emmett. _ He wanted to run, leave town, and never come back. Problem was, Michael was the one blocking his only escape route, and he wasn’t willing to leave Hill Valley in a casket. So what did he want? What would make Corleone move? A sob story, maybe. He seemed at least slightly sympathetic, but it didn’t come out as such with how brash and forward he was.

“Michael, I have  _ never _ felt my soulmate. In fact, the first time I did, I thought that she had been born on that day, or in the middle of the night, and that there would be a seventeen year gap between us. Then you come into town, build up my confidence to invent, and I decide to kiss you because maybe you were my soulmate, even though that didn’t make scientific sense. Then you disappear and pop back into existence two months later and gain me Edna Strickland’s affections, and you didn’t breathe a word about the kiss. Then, another two months pass where I established Edna as my scientific muse only for you to appear, yet again, and dissuade me from proposing to her, and then have the gall to chase me down and start talking about your own sweetheart of soulmate!”

“Emmett,” Michael’s voice was soft, just barely understandable over the winds, which had picked up considerably since he had initially climbed up. “I’m talking about you.”

“Like I could believe that!” Emmett stood from the edge, and Michael scrambled up to meet his gaze. “What you said doesn’t make  _ sense; _ I would have felt your presence since birth if that were true. You, Corleone, I loathe you. You are a pathological liar, deceitful, manipulative—”

“ _ I’m _ manipulative? If anyone’s manipulative, it’d be Edna.”

“Oh, please, I don’t even believe that Michael Corleone’s your real name!” Emmett was joking when he said that, mainly just poking at the fact that Michael’s life was hidden in clever lies and obscured truths, but Michael’s gaze flicked to the ground, and he looked guilty. Horribly,  _ horribly, _ guilty.

“Marty.”

“What?” Maybe Emmett misheard him over the winds, maybe he had said something else and not a completely different name, maybe Michael would take it back.

He didn’t. He continued. “My name’s Marty.” Mich—Marty closed his eyes and ran his hand through his hair. “I… I couldn’t—”

“Was  _ everything _ you told me a lie?” Emmett felt tears prick at his eyes again, dammit, he didn’t want this. “How I’d be a great inventor? How everything would “work out”? How you were sorry?”

The coil felt like it was about to implode, and Marty looked like he was contemplating jumping off the roof. His face was screwed up in agony, his chest heaved, and Emmett thought that he might’ve started crying. He couldn’t tell if it was because Marty was upset, honest to God upset, or if the mental link they may or may not have was pushing Emmett’s chaotic emotions through to him. “Emmett,  _ please.” _

“No! You can’t change my mind with a few choice words,  _ Marty. _ You might possibly be the worst person I’ve ever met, worse than my father. I will never subject myself to someone else’s whims, and I will invent  _ what _ I want,  _ when  _ I want, and I refuse to be manipulated by anyone ever again! And as for you,  _ Marty, _ I—!”

Marty cupped Emmett’s jaw in his hands and pulled him forward, their lips connecting in front of the clock face. Emmett’s initial response was to flail his arms and push Marty away, but he knew that’d sooner send them careening over the edge of the roof, but…

But he also really,  _ really, _ wanted this. More than he had expected.

Emmett whimpered, pressing against Marty desperately, and when Marty flicked his tongue against Emmett’s bottom lip, he parted them oh so needy. Marty took the initiative, which Emmett was grateful for, as the other clearly had more experience. There were fireworks exploding in Emmett’s mind, driving him insane because  _ God _ how long had he wanted this? Long before Edna, long before he had met Marty, even, because he had longed for his soulmate, longed for true intimacy which Edna—

Intimacy Edna had never provided him with before.

There was a flash of lightening and the ominous rumble of thunder in the distance. The synapses in his brain fired rapidly, the Mental Alignment Meter forgotten in the stead of Marty and the invention he was going to present at the expo.

It was Marty who broke the kiss. “Sorry, I kinda… I lost control for a second there.” He was earnest, his eyes and the coil and  _ oh Lord he could hear the same encouragement in his head _ . Were they truly that close? Could they just have mental conversations through mere passing thoughts? The possibilities were staggering and Emmett wanted to experiment with each and every one of them. “I know I’m a jackass and you don’t deserve me—hell, I can’t blame you—but I just needed to do that. I’m happy to have you back, Doc.”

Emmett backed away, a grin forming on his face. “Great Scott, I’ve got it!”

“Uh,” The shift in mood threw Marty off, expectations of a rage-induced, possibly homophobic monologue interrupted by a familiar exclamation and boundless enthusiasm. “Got what?”

“The solution for my invention, I know how to make it work!”

“The Mental Alignment Meter?”

“No, no,” Emmett shook his head, waving his arms as if conducting an orchestra, not caring about throwing himself off balance. “My airborne personal transport device. The prototype  _ was _ the rocket car, but that was my mistake: the basic idea worked fine but the propulsion system was unworkable. But the lightning made the answer clear—”

“And the kiss?” Marty gave Emmett a smug grin as he flushed.

“Yes and the—the kiss. The answer is electricity; static electricity, if super-ionized, could power the asynchronous oscillation frictionless plates inside the—” Emmett looked up, confused, and took off the Mind Map Helmet, tossing it down to the street below. “Won’t need  _ this _ anymore!”

Marty grinned. “I missed ya, Emmett.”

“So did I.” Emmett grinned back, “There’s serious science to be done, and the expo starts at eight!”

Between them, the clock tower rang out, the next hour having arrived. The loud gongs of the interior bell and the harsh winds that had picked up significantly due to the approaching storm had made it impossible for Emmett to decipher what Marty was saying. “ _ What? _ ”

“I  _ said: _ let’s get out of here before anything—” The stone beneath Emmett’s feet crumbled away. He felt weightless as the world slowed down. He saw Marty’s startled expression seconds before he lost sight of him completely as he dove, headfirst, to the concrete below.

_ <I am going to die.> _

Something caught his pant leg, his breath leaving him in a rush. One of the statues that had been erected earlier in the day had fallen with him and snagged his suit, saving his life. Of course, considering the current condition of his clothes, it was only a temporarily fix. “Emmett!”

He looked up, or down, from his perspective. Marty was still safe on the roof, but even with the blood rush, he could make out his panicked expression. “Help!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll save you!” As Marty lowered himself down the rope to the ground, Emmett couldn’t help but believe him.

* * *

**October 13th, 1931**

Emmett yawned and rubbed his eyes, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand, as he crept down the stairs to the basement. He had only taken a few sips after waking up in his bed, something more of necessity than a want, as he only had three or so hours until the expo began, and he would have to hurry to set up everything he had. The beginnings of dawn peaked through the small windows of the lowest floor, illuminating his workplace in an ethereal pale light.

He and Marty had worked in tandem through the night, supplying each other with quips and potential catastrophic possibilities of his demonstration. Instead of filling him with dread, the thought of the crowd’s shocked expression as they ran out of the school halls sent him into a giggling mess. Marty had to pull him out with the reminder that they only had a few more hours, few more filaments, a tweak here or there that would work better or prevent an instantaneous explosion.

Speaking of, Marty was sprawled out on the small cot in the basement, something Emmett was grateful for whenever he worked for too long and about to crash. If not for the lethargic state Emmett’s mind was entrenched in (the caffeine had yet to kick in), he would have laughed at his horrifying posture. Emmett was willing to be that he had woken up with many cramps in the past, only able to force his way through the pain as the day went on.

Emmett frowned, sipping idly at his coffee. Marty Corleone (he wasn’t sure if that was his last name, either, but he didn’t want to jeopardize  _ whatever  _ it was they had by asking) was a secret, wrapped in an enigma, and sprinkled with mystery. He still wasn’t sure what Marty had told him was true or not, but there was a list of things that came out of his mouth he knew were true.

  * Marty was his soulmate. That much was irrefutable, considering that they had shared multiple mental conversations before, and that coil only appeared when Marty did.
  * Marty also cared about his wellbeing, enough to keep him on track to work on his new experiment, get rid of Edna, who was bad news all around, and saved his life two times now.
  * Even though he cared, Emmett wasn’t sure if what they had was love. His life had become hectic with the Mental Alignment Meter and, with last night’s events replaying in his head, he wasn’t sure what they had was, and he didn’t exactly have time to figure it out.
  * Taking his past behavior into consideration, Marty was going to leave again.



Emmett’s frown deepened. He doubted that ‘third time’s the charm’ would come into play with Marty’s flighty personality. His heart ached at the thought, because after this he really wouldn’t have any friends—unless a manipulative ex-girlfriend counted as a ‘friend’. Perhaps this would be a good thing, all things considered. He lived with a strict, German father in California, having a son be soulmates with another man when he was expecting to marry Edna only a day ago. It was probably for the best that such sacrilegious actions were not acted upon until they were older and had the privacy of their own house, or even just a car, traveling the country, and no one breathing down their necks and analyzing their every move.

Regardless of his own opinions, some of what Marty had said in the past hadn’t made sense. If he had “felt” his presence since birth, then why hadn’t Emmett experience the same? Plus, it was impossible for Emmett to have given him answers to a test, mentally or physically. The feat for a soulmate to communicate to their partner over long distances (because Marty had to be at  _ least _ a city away) meant their relationship had to be very strong. A few months ago, the name Marty meant nothing and Michael Corleone was a nameless face that he had assumed would become another tormentor in his life.

Emmett’s mind had felt solitude, like there was an empty space where something else  _ should _ have been, which he had filled with science and padded with law. Marty had apparently had no problems with hearing Emmett’s own thoughts or feelings.

Emmett shook his head and downed the rest of his coffee. The Mystery of Marty Corleone would have to be put on hold until the expo was over and, hopefully, he would stick around long enough for Emmett to at least ask him for an address. A small shove and repeated calls of Marty’s name didn’t stir him, and Emmett decided that it would be for the best if he simply let him get his rest. He was practically dead, the coil having unwound and silent, unsurprising considering that Emmett was still stressed from his near-death experience.

In the early light of dawn on a soon-to-be cool October thirteenth, eighteen year old Emmett gave his soulmate a fond smile and, with a box of miscellaneous parts under his arm in a box, left to secure his future.


	2. 1955: Well Hello, Future Boy

**November 5th, 1955**

Emmett’s life was simple, yet devoted to what he loved. He tended to stay up into the wee hours of the morning, whittling away at whatever invention had captivated him that day, or week, or month, then sleeping until the late hours of dusk, feeding and walking Copernicus intermittently throughout the day, and then repeat. His meals were sloppily made and, admittedly, awful. He had ordered food from restaurants more times than he could count, though he made sure that man’s best friend got a heartier meal to keep him healthy.

His life was simple, and yet, he was content. Granted, he would have loved a patent, or to make something that _worked_ that would benefit society rather than twist it manically. Right now, he was more or less enthralled in analyzing brain waves and inventing something that would allow people who were not soulmates to communicate mentally. He was working on a way to do it between animals and humans first, as Copernicus was the only one who would volunteer for such an experiment, but he hoped that the prototype could be fitted for efficient human-human telepathy.

The day had come and gone and, before he knew it, dawn had arrived. He promptly collapsed into his bed upon that realization, his fingers sore from adjusting the large, metallic helmet he had constructed in order to channel enough electrical energy to read the Beta waves the brain used to transmit conscious thought. For three hours there was peaceful rest, until Copernicus began to whine, dragging out into the odd limbo between sleep and wakefulness. Right, Copernicus hadn’t gone to the bathroom before he had fallen asleep, and he probably wanted a morning walk—

_ <Panic flooded his body, pushing it as fast as it could go as he pushed George—dad father stranger coward peeping tom was he having a nightmare?—out of the car’s path. There was the shriek of rubber tires breaking, attempting to stop and not hit him because he was in the car’s direct path but he was too close, nothing could be done. The front bumper slammed into his waist, bumping his kneecaps and knocking the breath out of him as he was flung onto his back and cracked his head on the asphalt. His vision blurred, black spots danced merrily, there was an angered shout, distorted by the ringing in his ears—> _

Emmett jolted out of his bed, gasping and choking on his spit. He held his sheets in a white-knuckled grip, his heart leaping out of his chest as he breathed slowly, in and out, patting down his body to check for an injury other than the cut above his eyebrow from earlier in the day. Damn the toilet for being wet… nearly broke his neck on the way down.

Nothing. He was fine, except scarred for life. He groped for Copernicus’ leash, already thinking of calculations and conundrums that would keep his mind off of the unsettling vision… dream… whatever it might have been.

Within twenty minutes, Copernicus had been satisfied, and Emmett had gone back to work on his mind reading helmet, dismissing the incident as a vivid dream and shoving it into the furthest corner of his mind.

* * *

It was around nine, when Emmett felt like himself and not like a man who had been blindfolded and thrown into a freezing lake in the middle of nowhere, when there was a knock at the front door. The sound jarred him out of comparing Copernicus’ EEG with his own, examining the brainwaves and hypothesizing ways of aligning the Delta and Gamma waves so that the Beta waves could be in synchronization. With the Mind Reading Helmet still on his head, he undid the sliding lock and pulled open the door until the chain lock restricted the movement, just enough for him to peek through and see who was there.

It was a teen, had to be considering the outlandish way he was dressed and the unsure way he held himself, with his back to the door. He wore mainly denim, but there was also a horrendously bright orange vest, perhaps a life preserver, because he couldn’t remember the last time he had seen a vest like _that_ in any clothing store he frequented. He was running his hand through his hair, halfway through turning around, when Emmett slammed the door shut, straightening with a sense of nostalgia.

He had the oddest feeling of Déjà Vu.

Emmett undid the chain lock and threw the door open, leaning out with a wild look as he examined the teen’s face. It was soft, not marred by age or stress, with brilliant blue eyes and now, Emmett thought. Now he felt like he should know the boy. Something clued him in, in the back of his mind—a familiar, comforting phenomenon that he should have recognized—told him that the boy was lost, scared, relieved, and overall _distraught_ beyond any imagination of the word.

“Doc?” The boy breathed, like anything louder would blow Emmett away.

With the urgency of a World War II general, Emmett grabbed his arm and whispered. “Don’t say a word.”

The boy didn’t struggle or wiggle out of his hold as Emmett led him into the foyer, only protesting once he had let go of his arm. “Doc, Doc you got to—”

“I don’t want to hear it!” Emmett said, detaching the smaller version of a Mind Reading Helmet (which was a strip of nylon and a suction cup attached to the large machine that Emmett’s helmet was a part of) from Copernicus’ head, adjusting a few things on his way back up from kneeling. “I don’t want to know your name, your address, where you come from; I don’t want to know anything about you.”

“Doc!” Again with the shortening of ‘doctor’. Emmett did gain a doctorate, but no one ever called him ‘doc’.

They either referred to him as Mister Brown or Emmett, and even then that was rare. Emmett shushed him again, sticking the suction cup to the center of the boy’s forehead, not missing the exasperated glare he got in return.

“I am going to read your thoughts,” Emmett said, adjusting the helmet and licking his lips. “I need absolute silence for this to work.”

“Doc—”

“Quiet!” The boy took in a shaky breath, and Emmett centered his helmet, taking in the boy’s somewhat bedraggled appearance. The porch light was dimmer than the interior lights, allowing him to see scuff marks and dirt stains spattered about the boy’s clothing. “You’ve come here from a great distance.”

“Yeah, exact—”

Emmett shushed him again, and he swore he could feel annoyance radiating off of him. “You want me to buy a subscription to the Saturday Evening Post?”

“No, I—”

“No, not a word, not a word now.” Emmett grabbed various light bulbs atop his Mind Reading Helmet, hoping that would give him a clearer image. “You want me to make a donation to the Coast Guard Youth Auxiliary.”

“Doc,” The boy grabbed the wire leading to the suction cup and ripped it off his forehead. The machine clicked, each one spacing further apart as the machine began to shut down. “I’m from the future. I came here in a _time machine_ that _you_ invented. Now I need your help to get back to the year _1985_.”

_ <finally> _

“My God, do you know what this means?” Emmett shook his head and grasped the boy’s arms a faint smile dancing on his lips. In seconds, his expression became furious and his grip tightened, one hand flying to the clasp for the helmet as he fumbled with the latch. “It means this damn _thing_ doesn’t work at all!”

“Doc,” the boy cried as Emmett ranted under his breath, silver snakeskin robe fluttering behind him as he carried the helmet over to his desk and set it down. As much as he hated the fact it didn’t work, he could easily scrap it for parts if he needed to. His mind throbbed, possibly a side effect the nasty bruise just above his eyebrow and wearing the helmet for a prolonged period. “You gotta help me; you’re the only one who knows how your time machine works.”

“Time machine?” Emmett’s tone matched the one the boy used at his door earlier, the pain scattering his thoughts somewhat. “I haven’t invented any time machine…”

_ <c’mon please listen to me> _

“Okay, all right, I’ll prove it to you.” The boy reached into his back pocket and took out his wallet, fishing out his driver’s license. “Look, expires 1987. Look at my birthdate, for cryin’ out loud, I haven’t even been born yet! And… and look at this picture: it’s my brother, sister, and me.” The boy shoved a small Polaroid into his face, depicting the front yard of a house with two other people flanking the teenager who, to Emmett’s annoyance, was currently leaning on his desk lamp. “Look at her sweatshirt, Doc, ‘Class of 1984’.”

“Pretty mediocre photographic fakery, eh?” Emmett plucked the picture from the Future Boy’s grasp, bringing it into the light. “Cut off your mother’s hair?”

“I’m tellin’ the truth, Doc, you’ve got to believe me!” Emmett could feel palpable desperation radiating off his boy, but something made him stop. He could feel something in the back of his mind a… a coil tightening on itself and practically imploding, and that tone, the word ‘Doc’, something was achingly familiar. It was like there was interference on the TV, and he was trying his best to adjust the signal in order to get a clear image.

“Then tell me, Future Boy,” Emmett stood up to his full height, only to slouch when he realized he was still a good head higher than the other. “Who’s President of the United States in 1985?”

Honestly, Emmett was expecting a nobody name, maybe a Senator in some far off state, someone he couldn’t have known.

Instead, Future Boy looked him in the eye, tapped his chest with his wallet, and said with full confidence, “Ronald Reagan.”

“ _Ronald Reagan?_ ” A disbelieving grin spread across Emmett’s face. Whatever theory he had been piecing together gone in a flash with two simple words, because there was no way, absolutely none that this boy was from the future. This was a practical joke taken to the extreme, and he was having none of it. “The _actor?_ ”

The boy nodded, and Emmett gave a scornful laugh. “Who’s Vice President, Jerry Lewis?” Emmett swept up various blueprints that were scattered across his desk before going to the back door, breaking into a run and calling over his shoulder as he heard the ‘Future Boy’ following him. “I suppose Jane Wyman is the First Lady, and Jack Benny is Secretary of the Treasury!”

“Wait, Doc!” Future Boy shouted as he chased him to his garage, a surprising effort as Emmett was taller than him and had much longer legs. Long strides and speed were apparently outmatched by a teenager’s youth. Still, Emmett reached the door before the other could cross in front of him. “You have to _listen_ to me!”

“I’ve had enough practical jokes for one evening.” Emmett threw open his garage’s door and spun around, glaring down at the teenager with vitriol. “Good night, Future Boy!”

“No, wait, _Doc!”_ His voice came through the door, adding to Emmett’s headache. Moving fast in such a chaotic atmosphere had clearly set back the progress he had made with clearing his head. "The bruise—the bruise on your head! I know how that happened! You told me the whole story earlier—or later? Whatever, you told me! You were standing on your toilet, and you were hanging a clock, and you fell, and you hit your head on the sink, and that's when you came up with the idea for the flux capacitor, which… is what…” There was a dull thud on the door, Future Boy’s voice barely audible through the door. “Makes time travel possible,”

_ <please please please Doc please stuck lost alone fifty-five mom dad alone scared please dammit doc help me out here> _

Emmett froze, his eyes wide, and he hastily dropped the blueprints before turning and ripping the door open. Future Boy stood there, desperate, and in the outdoor light he could see a brief glimmer of tears before he hastily wiped his eyes. Like on the porch, Emmett grabbed his arm and dragged him inside, Copernicus slipping through before it could close on his tail.

As Emmett examined the teen, truly examined and not skim over details to file away for later, he was reminded of a hot day in June and an October thunderstorm atop the Courthouse.

“A time machine?” Emmett breathed, watching as Future Boy—no, Marty Corleone, or some other last name that the boy had fantasized—tread lightly around scraps of machinery and carefully picked up the blueprints, curling them up and placing them on a workbench with care. It was clear that he knew what he was doing, that he had been in the garage before and knew to have an iota of care around his inventions. “I create a time machine?”

“Out of a DeLorean.” Marty finished, nodding. He looked around, examining the lab. “Man, how is this messier than the one in ‘85?”

“What’s your name?” Emmett breathed, having collapsed into one of the cleaner chairs in the garage. In reality, ‘lab’ would have been a better fitting term, as he left his car outside and most of the interior was filled with various design ideas and half-finished machines, or piles of scrap metal and wires.

“Marty,” he said. “Marty McFly.”

“And I’m sure you know my name.” Emmett replied humorlessly, his mind somewhat fried by the sudden revelation.

Marty McFly. Michael Corleone. He showed no recollection of having kissed Emmett, or even knowing that they were soulmates, or even saying a little “Hey howdy hey!” after disappearing off the face of the planet for more than twenty years. For all Emmett knew, it had been mere seconds since his arrival in 1931: twenty years gone in the blink of an eye.

“Uh, Doc?” God, he said the nickname the same way as he did, all those years ago. “You okay?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” He shook himself, running his hand through his hair—frayed and white with stress and age, a far cry from the auburn shade it had been in his youth—and standing once more, ignoring Copernicus’ concerned whine. “Come now, I’d like to see this time machine of yours, Future Boy.”

Marty nodded, already moving towards the door. Emmett almost wanted to say that he should rest, take a nap on his couch or in one of his chairs, as he could _feel_ Marty’s exhaustion through the mental link, but it was also in the way he held himself. His shoulders sagged, whatever anger and bravado that he had displayed earlier having evaporated in seconds and given way to this depression.

With little trepidation, Emmett placed his hand on Marty’s back and rubbed a small circle, the calming motion almost making the other sag and collapse to his knees in relief. “How about this: you’ll tell me where this time machine is, and I can drive us there while you take a nap in my car. That sound good?”

“Yeah,” Marty sighed, yawning and rubbing at his eyes. “Yeah, that sounds _great,_ Doc.”

* * *

“Hey, Doc—ah, Emmett?” Emmett looked up from his notes, already having scribbled various calculations and parts the car that would be needed to make the jump through time. Marty was leaning on the doorway, his vest having been taken off and his denim jacket hung loosely over his shoulders.

“Marty, you may call me whatever you are most comfortable with.” Emmett hummed, already having turned back to his paper and sketching a rough image of a device that could harness the lightning strike’s power. “And I already told you to get some rest. I could barely wake you when we arrived at Lyon States, and tomorrow we will need to obtain era-appropriate clothing for you to wear. Then we will need to locate your parents in order to get them in a relationship to assure your continued existence.”

“I know, Doc, trust me, but uh…” Marty rubbed the back of his neck, a prominent blush spreading across his cheeks. “I’ve got nothing to wear to bed and my clothes are more or less rags after today, so do you think I could borrow, like, a pair of PJs or something?”

Emmett’s cheeks turned a shade he thought impossible to obtain. He should have expected this in all honesty. Marty had been through hell, it only made sense that his clothes were practically ruined. He had been pondering to himself if that odd dream he had earlier in the day was, perhaps, Marty entering 1955 in the DeLorean, but he wasn’t about to ask in fear that it would stir up unwanted memories. To say that Marty had looked traumatized on his porch wasn’t a far cry from the truth, and the last thing Emmett needed was for him to break down.

“Right,” Emmett rose from his desk, notes forgotten in the aftermath of his exhaustion. He couldn’t possibly imagine how Marty was faring, as most of his weight was on the doorframe. “I have some spare pairs of pajamas in my bedroom that you can borrow while you’re here.”

“Thanks. And, Doc?” Marty’s voice felt tired, to the point where Emmett was afraid that he was about to pass out. As much as Emmett wanted Marty to get some rest, he doubted that he would be strong enough to carry a hundred fifty pound teen uphill while he was just as, if not more exhausted. “Get some rest, too. I can—” Marty cut himself off, his mind sluggish as he tried to make up for his slip of the tongue. “It’s… obvious you’re tired.”

Emmett pressed his lips together, but nodded as he kept a cautious hand on Marty’s back. As he led him to the mansion, he pondered what Marty was going to say before he corrected himself.

“Here,” He said as he led Marty into his room. As he shuffled through his drawers to find a small outfit that he may have outgrown, he saw Marty spin around and take in the room in his peripheral. Emmett paused his search for only a moment before continuing: surely if Marty was familiar with his garage, the house should have been a familiar sight, no? “I’m bound to have some suitable sleepwear in this confounded room.”

“It’s…” Marty fumbled for a word. “Clean.”

Emmett paused his search once more with an arched eyebrow. His room wasn’t exactly clean: the bed was unmade and there were various dirty garments strewn about, though he did try to make a conscious effort to try and place them in the wash basket as regularly as possible, but _clean_ wasn’t the right word for it. “I wouldn’t consider it.”

“It’s leagues better than my room, Doc.” Marty collapsed onto the bed, uncaring of the wrinkled sheets. “God, I’m wiped.”

“How much sleep have you gotten?”

“Uh…” Marty tilted his head up and gazed at Emmett, who was currently holding two different night shirts in his hand, judging which one would fit better. “If you don’t count the time I got knocked out, maybe a few hours?”

“You were knocked unconscious?” Emmett ignored the flare of over-protectiveness in his chest and turned to face Marty. “That would explain the bump on your head. Who did it?”

“Not who,” Marty’s eyes were closed, his voice raspy and laden with sleep. Thank god he wasn’t looking at Emmett’s face, because he was certain that his face would have been noticeably red. “I got hit by a car and hit my head on the road. My dad was supposed to be the one who got hit, and then everything just kinda…” Marty waved his hand in the air. “Spiraled from there.”

Emmett hummed non-committedly, laying out his smallest nightshirt that he owned. Now to find a pair of pants…

Marty let out a tiny snore, the sound making Emmett jump. Turning around, Emmett’s eyebrows rose even higher: Marty was well and truly asleep, one hand covering his stomach while the other one was stretched out and hanging over the foot of the bed. Emmett chuckled, albeit quietly, as he recalled that Marty’s posture surely hadn’t changed much since that one October day building his transport device.

Somewhat scared to move the teen, Emmett grabbed a spare blanket he had draped over one of his chairs and threw it over the sleeping boy. He then turned off the light and eased the door closed as he left, giving the boy a fond smile as he went to sleep in one of the guest rooms.

* * *

**November 8th, 1955**

Emmett had _multiple_ opinions about the upcoming future, but he would sing his praises to the technological advancements that Marty had shown him. Besides the car itself, the video-audio recording unit was a magnificent piece of work that Emmett and Marty were both eternally grateful for. After all, without it, Emmett would not have been able to easily gather the necessary information in order to repair the car.

As Marty had gone out to ensure that his father would ask Lorraine to the Enchantment under the Sea Dance, Emmett decided to review the footage of the first experiment from the beginning. He had only watched what Marty had deemed important, the part where the older version of himself had explained how the time circuits worked and how much energy was required for it to function properly. It took him a few moments to figure out how the camera functioned, how to ‘rewind’ the tape, and how to start it, but it was well worth the momentary confusion.

 _“All right, rolling.”_ Marty’s voice was clear as the camera panned up to an older version of himself. His hair was a bit thinner, a bit more frayed, and his skin had a plethora of wrinkles, but he was still recognizable. He wondered how he would cope with the nuclear fallout that would ensue in the coming years.

 _“Good evening, I’m Doctor Emmett Brown. I’m standing on the parking lot at Twin Pines Mall. It’s Saturday morning, October 26th, 1985, 1:18 A.M., and this is temporal experiment number one.”_ The camera panned to the right and down as his older self ushered a sheepdog into the driver’s seat of the DeLorean, fastening a seatbelt and placing something around its neck. Marty’s grip slipped as he backed up to avoid colliding with the older Emmett, his aim steadying as the picture focused back on the dog as Older Emmett held up two stopwatches. _“Please note that Einstein’s clock is in precise synchronization with my control watch. Got it?”_

_“Right. Check, Doc.”_

_“Good. Have a good trip, Einstein, watch your head."_ Both Marty and Emmett backed away from the car, his older counterpart pulling out an odd handheld machine with an antenna pulled out.

 _“You got that thing hooked up to the—”_ Older Emmett flicked one of the many switches on the machine and the car’s engine jumped to life. _“…Car?”_

The DeLorean spun around the large parking lot, Older Emmett whispering animatedly as he stopped it at the far end. He then pulled Marty, jostling the camera, into the car’s path. Its headlights were in the center of the image, the engine’s purrs audible, even at such a distance. _“If my calculations are correct, when this baby hits eighty-eight miles per hour,”_ the view swung to the left, capturing Emmett’s complacent smirk. _“You’re going to see some serious shit.”_

The screech of rubber against asphalt echoed through the night air. Emmett and Marty came to the same conclusion at the same moment, the camera sliding to the right before jostling back into place. He assumed his older counterpart had pulled Marty back into the car’s path, and he unconsciously tensed. Yes, Marty had survived getting hit by a car before, but the driver was attempting to stop and was going at a relatively slow speed in a suburban neighborhood. This was a car peeling down an empty parking lot at high speeds: a miracle was necessary to survive such a collision with minimal injuries.

The DeLorean jolted forward, the headlights drawing near, and the camera was aimed at a slight downwards angle. The car drew closer, three loud bangs distorting the audio, and then—

The car disappeared, leaving two flaming tire tracks in its wake. There was no horrible thump, no screams of pain, but rather the ecstatic hollering Older Emmett, unseen as Marty lowered the camera, ironically having focused on the steaming license plate as it spun and fell, the letters spelling OUTATIME. _“What did I tell you? Eighty-eight miles per hour! The temporal displacement occurred at exactly 1:20 A.M. and zero seconds!”_

Marty hissed, having grabbed the license plate, only for it to clatter to the ground, out of frame. _“Jesus Christ... Jesus Christ, Doc, you disintegrated Einstein!”_

_“Calm down, Marty, I didn’t disintegrate anything. The molecular structure of Einstein and the car are completely intact!”_

_“Then where the hell are they?”_

_“The appropriate question is_ when _the hell are they. You see, Einstein has just become the world’s first time traveler.”_  The camera, for a fraction of a minute, focused on Older Emmett as he ran back and threw his arm out. _“I sent him into the future!”_

Emmett watched as his older self and Marty interacted, taking interest in their characterization. He took note of how Marty, despite being panicked, showed little to no trepidation to what he said around Doc. He threw around swears and questions with ease, completely comfortable with his presence, and the same could be said for him. However, with his interactions now, Marty was cautious around him, scared almost. Most of the time, Marty tried to stem the thought flow from his side of the link, something Emmett couldn’t help but ponder if he had taught him how or if he had experimented throughout the years.

There was an unseen tension between Marty and _current_ Emmett that clearly didn’t exist in 1985, and he had to admit that his curiosity was piqued. He was, despite the age gap, essentially the same person. Granted, he arguably had less knowledge, and had known Marty less, but these current reservations should have developed overtime and not have been present since the beginning.

The Marty in the video, and the Marty in 1931, were somewhat brash and had little reserves, to the point where he asked Emmett if he wanted a beer, despite it being illegal to sell or possess anything alcoholic. His Marty talked like he was walking on eggshells, and was almost shy or, dare he say, _scared_ at points, both possibilities blasphemy compared to prior interactions.

Emmett took notes, not only on Marty’s behavior in the video, but also about the function and process of travelling through time. How the plutonium channeled the energy, attempting to take notes and analyze the functioning time circuits. The video then abruptly cut to Older Emmett leaning on the open gull wing door, a heartfelt smile on his face. Einstein’s barking came from off screen, the camera briefly panning to a white truck that was possibly used to transport the DeLorean before going back to Older Emmet.

 _“What is it, Einy?”_ His counterpart turned to face Marty, only for him to walk forward and his face to go slack. Even with the black and white camera, Emmett could tell that his older self had blanched, terror radiating off every bone in his body.

Emmett couldn’t help but feel the same fear consume him as he watched. _“Oh my God, they found me… I don’t know how but they found me._ Run for it, Marty!”

 _“Who, wh—”_ The video cut. Marty must have stopped recording in favor of, well, _running_. Emmett pressed the rewind button to the moment before Older Emmett had cried out. The same terror-filled cry rang through the garage, followed by Marty’s frantic response, before devolving into static.

Rewind, play, static, repeat. Emmett didn’t know how long he sat there, hearing his own voice scream at him, hoping that maybe there would be a clue if he examined closer. The ache in his legs from crouching faded to the background, forgotten as he went on autopilot, dread settling like a brick his stomach.

“Doc?” It took every scrap of self-control Emmett had manifested over the years to keep the video recorder from flying out of his grip. Rising from his crouch, Emmett turned and saw Marty, disheveled and dressed in era-appropriate clothing, leaning on the tarp covered DeLorean. The coil was tense in the back of his mind and considering that Marty was clearly out of breath, he had probably sensed his fear and ran back to the mansion.

“Hi, Marty.” Emmett attempted to save face, jumping slightly as the recording fell to static before placing it atop his television. “Didn’t hear you come in. Fascinating device, this… video unit.”

“Listen, Doc,” Marty ducked under the large hook he had attached to the car. “There’s something I haven’t told you about the night we made that ta—”

“Please, Marty, don’t tell me.” Emmett pushed past him, busying himself to check on the hook to ensure it was still secure. He blocked his side of the link, and visibly blocked Marty. “No man should know too much about his own destiny.

“Doc, you don’t understand—”

“No, I _do_ understand. If I know too much about my own future I could endanger my very existence, just as you’ve endangered yours.”

Marty was tense when Emmett turned to look him in the eyes. His hands were balled into fists and Emmett felt him pushing, attempting to break through the blockade that Emmett had put up, only to sigh and rescind. Marty might have had the indignity of youth behind him, but Emmett was at least skilled in some regard of how to trick the universe, if only for a few seconds. “...You’re right.”

“Good, now,” Emmett placed his hand on Marty’s back, guiding him to a small-scale model of Hill Valley’s town square, the teen taking it in with wide eyes. “Let me show you my plan for sending you home…”

* * *

**November 12th, 1955**

Emmett wound up the clock, an antique his mother used to use while she cooked, and placed it on the dashboard. He looked around at the town center, the wind whipping his hair around, giving him a chaotic appearance. At his side, Marty hunched and dug his hands into his pockets, almost scared.

_ <thank you> _

Emmett paused. It was the first intentional use of the mental link that wasn’t rushed thoughts and emotions hastily construed into a monologue-like babble. His enthusiasm was boundless, and he flung his arms out with a face-splitting grin on his face.

_ <Thank YOU!> _

With little hesitation, Marty rushed forward and wrapped his arms around Emmett, embracing him as his breath hitched. With unsure hands, Emmett returned the gesture, giving Marty a (hopefully) reassuring pat on the back. “In about thirty years…?”

Another waiting game, except this time, he would know he was waiting. Each second would feel like a suffocating choke hold around his neck. “I hope so.”

Emmett pasted a smile on his face, afraid of the loneliness that he would have to learn to handle with, to build up a wall, to block out and fill with something else. He clapped Marty’s shoulder, moving away from the car and gazing up into the stormy night sky. “Don’t worry! As long as you hit that wire with the connecting hook at precisely eighty-eight miles an hour the instant the lightning strikes the tower…” Emmett placed his hands in his pockets, calculating just how many more days would he feel _alone_ again, hiding his shakiness. “Everything will be fine.”

Marty nodded, but Emmett wasn’t looking down at him. His hands fumbled, pulling out an envelope that he knew he shouldn’t have. The envelope had damning evidence, sloppy cursive, _Do not open until 1985._ “What’s the meaning of this?”

“You’ll find out in thirty years!” Marty didn’t even look ashamed, more like imploring, as if he wasn’t going against Emmett’s explicit wishes. If it weren’t for the fact that they had so little time, knew so little about each other, Emmett might’ve accepted that as an answer.

But he didn’t. “It’s about the future, isn’t it?” Emmett wasn’t _new_ to time travel, but he certainly wasn’t accustomed to it, either. He could only make assumptions of what would happen with future knowledge, especially if Marty was willing to go to such lengths to ensure that he would gain such information. “I warned you about this kid, the consequences could be _disastrous._ ”

“That’s a risk you’ll have to take!” Marty had since left the car and was standing in front of Emmett, looking him in the eye and forgoing the mental link because, no matter what, he wasn’t going to let this drop. “Your life _depends_ on it!”

“ _No!_ ” Emmett pulled away from Marty, pulled away from the future and everything in his life that mattered, and ripped the envelope and letter. Marty looked at him like he had just slaughtered a puppy with no remorse. “I _refuse_ to accept the responsibility!”

“In that case,” Marty screamed over the wind, and Emmett averted his eyes because he can’t—he can’t look at Marty right now, he can’t do this, not when they’re so close to succeeding, not when he has to say goodbye. “I’ll tell you straight up!”

“Marty, enough!”

“On the night I go back, you get—!”

Emmett spun on his heel, cupping Marty’s face and kissing him. Marty was like a statue in his grip, tight and wound up with stress and anxiety, the coil and the mental link shorting out as Marty attempted to process what was happening. Emmett was just as, if not more tense, but he needed this like a heroin addict needed his fix. If he focused hard enough, he could pretend like it was a cold October evening twenty years in the past, when he was a vivacious teenager prepared for a goodbye, because no one stayed in young Emmett’s life, everyone moved on at one point or another, for better or for worse. He wondered, in the future, had he ever kissed Marty? Were they a couple in 1985, or were they dancing a complicated rhythm between friends and something more?

It was neither Emmett nor Marty who broke off the kiss, but Mother Nature. There was a crack as a stray bolt of lightning struck a tree limb, which then decided that it would be oh-so-kind if it were to disconnect the power cable as it crashed to the ground. “Great Scott!” Emmett exclaimed, already rushing over to the branch, shoving the torn letter into one of his pockets, forgotten in his rush. “You get the cable. I’ll throw the rope down to you!”

The wire disconnecting was the first step in a domino effect. He had to climb up to the clock tower and threw down a rope to Marty and pull it back up for him to reconnect. He purposefully blocked the mental link, shoving every barrier he had ever conceived to _ignore_ Marty’s attempts at communication, and the harsh winds that drowned out the boy’s shouts helped in his endeavor. Time travel could never be easy, even in the minutes before, apparently.

Emmett couldn’t help but think of the _irony._ Twenty-four years ago, their roles were reversed: Emmett had to wait, pray, and hope, while Marty was acting as the knight in shining armor. Now, Emmett had to save the day while Marty could only sit in a DeLorean waiting for a kitchen timer to go off. Back in 1931, however, coming up here was much less dangerous. The statues made it impossible to move to the other side without letting go, and the ledge was precariously small for him to place his feet.

As he reached across the clock face, attempting to grab the damn plug, the marble ledge gave way under his weight. Just before he could plummet to his death, his hand snagged at one of the hands of the clock, in exchange, he dropped the other wire, which snagged on his pants leg. He took a moment to breathe, not to relax, but more to process the fact that he wasn’t dead, even though he felt like he was having a heart attack.

_ <IT WON’T START> _

Emmett nearly screamed as Marty’s thoughts pushed through, the near death experience of falling to his death for a second time having jolted his barriers enough to allow entrance. More focused on scaling the wall to fix the wire, he forced his confusion of the statement through instead of a word or phrase.

_ <CAR STALLED IT WON’T TURN OVER THIS THING’S A PAPER WEIGHT WON’T MOVE> _

“Damn.” Emmett swore, hanging from the wire he had grabbed while trying to grab the power cable without it or him falling to the ground. He hadn’t considered it stalling, though Marty had mentioned that was what happened after he discovered Lyon Estates. There was nothing he could do _now,_ dangling thirty feet in the air as he yanked the wire from his pant leg. The car either started or it didn’t; at this rate, no matter what happened Marty would be stuck in 1955.

The roar of the time vehicle’s engine ripped through the night, calming Emmett. The wire was secure in his hand, he was safe on a ledge, and the car had started, climbing to eighty-eight. With a satisfied grin on his face, Emmett pulled the power cable to connect it—

It stopped short. Emmett’s expression morphed into terror as he tried again, only for it to stop just before it could go into the plug. He looked down to see that the tree branch, even though it was curved, was stopping it from reaching its full length by making an angle in the line. He gave a strong yank and nearly toppled over the edge: the end atop the courthouse had been successfully attached, but at the bottom there was nothing connecting it to the overhanging wire, and Emmett knew he wouldn’t be able to run down the stairs, across the street, and reconnect it again. Running to the top of the stairs had nearly robbed him of all his breath.

He looked at the wire, at the connecting plug at the bottom (which was stuck on the branch, keeping tension in the line), and calculated how much spare wire he had.

_ <If you see me down there, I’m sorry for what I’m about to do.> _

Taking some of the wire, he wrapped it around the minute hand and _leaped._

He screamed as his jury-rigged zip line sent him careening into the town center, throwing him onto the leaf covered ground just in front of the branch. Forcing his way through the bruises that were sure to form, he pulled the plug from out underneath the tree and ran to the light posts that connected the overhanging wire. Just as he plugged them in, the lightning struck the tower, the resulting charge racing through his body and flinging him onto his back.

_ <IN THIRTY YEARS DOC> _

There was a magnificent crash of noise, Emmett’s ears popped at the sheer magnitude. The DeLorean had disappeared without a trace, the only evidence of it every having been on the street was the copper pole dangling from the wire and the twin fire trails on the street leading to the theatre. Emmett limped, only to push past it and run down the street, hopping up and down on his uninjured foot with a manic grin on his face. “ _Yeah-haha!_ ”

It worked. It worked _flawlessly_ , if not for a few hitches that were less than appreciated, but Marty had, presumably, been sent to his home year of 1985. It would be a lonely, _lonely_ thirty years, but he had a time machine to build, a future to maintain and strive for, something to look forward to instead of clinging to the past.

With an almost child-like giddiness, he went to get his car. It was late at night, and Copernicus was probably scared, all alone at home while a thunderstorm raged above him. Still, Copernicus would miss Marty just as much as he did. He would probably sniff around the spare room Marty had claimed as his own and wander around the house in an attempt to find him. If he focused hard enough, he could just barely hear Marty’s voice shouting out.

“ _Doc!_ ” Something forced him down into a crouch and he was prepared to shout at the person and demand that they let him go but—

The sound that left him could only be described as an odd mixture between a scream and confused whimper.

“Okay, relax, _relax_ Doc. It’s me, it’s Marty.” And it was. He was wearing a black leather jacket, and he was completely soaked from head to toe, but it couldn’t be, it _couldn’t_.

“Can’t be,” He said, looking at the copper hook on the wire, the fading flame trails. The time machine _had_ worked, hadn’t it? “I just—I just sent you back…”

“Yeah, I know, you did send me back, but I’m _back_. I’m back from the future.”

Emmett tried to take deep breaths, tried to count to ten in his head, but the world was spinning around him because this _couldn’t be happening_. Marty was supposed to be safe, supposed to be back in 1985, he couldn’t be here, he—he had failed, something went wrong, and he…

Emmett let out defeated “Great Scott,” before his mind shut down and he collapsed to the street, Marty’s panicked face hovering above him.


End file.
